"She's comin'," he cried sharply. "I hear 'er. I got two stars, mebbe three."

When Jinnie opened the door, the water was dripping from her clothes, and her hair hung in long, wet curls to her waist. One look into Peg's twisted, pain-ridden face, and she understood.

"I'm glad you're here," said the woman, with a gesture of helplessness. And Bobbie echoed, with fluttering hands, "I'm glad, too, Jinnie. Me and Peg was so 'fraid."

The girl spoke softly to Bobbie, and drew Peggy into the bedroom. There, with her arm thrown across Mrs. Grandoken's shoulder, she gave all the assurance and comfort of which she was capable.

Long after midnight, the rain still came down in thrashing torrents, and through the pieces of broken tin on the roof the wind shrilled dismally.

There was a solemn hush in the back bedroom where Peggy lay staring at the ceiling. In front of the shadowy lamp was a bit of cardboard to protect the sick woman's eyes from the light. At Peggy's side sat Jinnie, and in her arms lay a small bundle. Jinnie had gained much knowledge in the last few hours. She had discovered the mystery of all existence. She had seen Peg go down into that wonderful valley of life and bring back Lafe's little boy baby, and the girl's eyes held an expression of impenetrable things. She moved her position slightly so as to study Mrs. Grandoken's face.

Suddenly Peg's eyes lowered.

"Jinnie, gimme a drink, will you?"

Placing the child on the bed, the girl got up instantly. She went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of milk. It had scarcely touched the woman's lips before she raised her hand and pushed it away.

"I mustn't drink that," she whispered feebly.

"I got it specially for you, Peggy dear," insisted Jinnie.... "Drink it," she wheedled, "please."

Then Jinnie sat down again, listening as the elements kept up their continuous rioting, and after a while they lulled her to rest. Suddenly her head dropped softly on the bundle in her arms, and the three—Peggy, Jinnie and the tiny Jewish baby—slept.

Jinnie's name, spoken in low tones, roused her quickly. She raised her head, a sharp pain twisting her neck. Peggy was looking at her, with misery in her face.

"I feel awful sick, Jinnie," she moaned. "Can't you say somethin' t'me, somethin' to make me feel better?"

Something to make her feel better! The words touched the listener deeply. Oh, how she wanted to help! To alleviate Peg's suffering was her one desire. If it had been Bobbie, or even Lafe, Jinnie would have known exactly what to say; but Peggy, proud, stoical Peggy!

"Let me put the baby with you where it's warm, Peg," she said, gently. "I'm going to talk to you a minute.... There, now, you're all safe, little mister, near your mammy's heart."

Then she knelt down by the bed and took the woman's hot fingers in hers.

"Peggy," she began softly, "things look awful bad just now, but Lafe told me once, when they looked that way, it was time for some one to come along and help. I'll tell you about it, Peg! Eh?"

"Who c'n come?" demanded Mrs. Grandoken, irritably. "Mr. King can't, an' we hain't no other friends who'll come to a cobbler's shop."

The question in her voice gave Jinnie the chance she was looking for.

"Yes, there is," she insisted. "Now listen, while I say something; will you?"

"Sure," said Peg, squeezing Jinnie's fingers.

Then Jinnie started to repeat a few verses Lafe had taught her. She couldn't tell exactly where they were in the Bible, but the promise in them had always made her own burdens lighter, and since seeing Lafe daily, she had partially come back to her former trust.

"'The Lord is my Shepherd,'" she droned sleepily. Then on and on until she came to, "'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,'" and Peg broke into a sob.

"'I will fear no evil,'" soothed Jinnie, amid the roaring of the wind and the crackling of the thunder over the hill.

"'For thou art with me,'" she finished brokenly. "He's the one I was talking about, Peggy. He'll help us all if we can believe and be——"

Then she quickly ended, "Happy in Spite."

Peg continued to sob. One arm was across her baby boy protectingly, and the other hand Jinnie held in hers.

"Somehow things seem easier, Peggy, when you hold your head up high, and believe everything'll come all right.... Lafe said so; that's why he started the club."

"I wisht I could think that way. I'm near dead," groaned the woman.

Jinnie smoothed the soft, grey-streaked hair.

"Wouldn't you like to come into the club, dear?" she faltered, scarcely daring to put the question. "Then you'll be happy with us all—with Lafe and Bobbie and—and——"

Jinnie wanted to say another name, but doubted its wisdom—and then abruptly it came; "and Jinnie," she finished.

Peggy almost sat up in bed.

"Darlin'," she quivered. "Darlin' girl, I've been cussed mean to Lafe an' you. I've told you many a time with my own mouth I hated you, but God knows, an' Lafe knows, I loved you the minute I set eyes on you." She dropped back on the pillow and continued, "If you'll take me in your club, an' learn me how to believe, I'll try; I swear I will."

For a long time Jinnie sat crooning over and over the verses she'd learned from Lafe, and bye-and-bye she heard Peg breathing regularly and knew she slept. Then she settled herself in the chair, and sweet, mysterious dreams came to her through the storm.



CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE STORY OF A BIRD

Lafe Grandoken, in his wheel chair, sat under the barred prison window, an open Bible on his knees. Slowly the shadows were falling about him, and to the man every shade had an entity of its own. First there trooped before him all the old memories of the many yesterdays—of Peg—his little dead lad—and Jinnie. And lastly, ghostlike, came the shattered hopes of to-morrow, and with these he groaned and shivered.

Jinnie stole in and looked long upon her friend through the iron-latticed door. The smile that played with the dimples in her cheeks and the dancing shadows in the violet eyes indicated her happiness. Lafe looked older and thinner than ever before, and her heart sang when she thought of the news she had to tell him. She longed to pronounce his name, to take away the far-away expression that seemed to hold him in deep meditation. During her tramp to the jail she'd concocted a fairy story to bring a smile to the cobbler's lips. So at length:

"Lafe," she whispered.

Mr. Grandoken's head came up quickly, and he turned the chair and wheeled toward her. There was the same question in his eyes that had been there for so many days, and Jinnie smiled broadly.

"Lafe," she began mysteriously, "a great big bird flew right into the house last night. He flopped in to get out of the storm!"

"A bird?" repeated Lafe, startled.

"Yes, and everybody says it's awful good luck."

Lafe's expression grew tragic, and Jinnie hurried on with her tale.

"I'll bet you can't guess what kind of a bird 'twas, Lafe."

Lafe shook his head. "I can't lessen 'twas a robin," said he.

Jinnie giggled.

"My, no! He was a heap bigger'n a robin. Guess again!"

Such chatter from Jinnie was unusual, especially of late, but Lafe bore it patiently.

"I can't," he sighed, shaking his head.

Jinnie clapped her hands.

"I knew you couldn't! Well, Lafe, it was a—a——"

"Yes?" queried Lafe wearily, during her hesitation. "Well, Jinnie?"

"It was a great, big, beautiful white stork, Lafe, and he brought you a new Jew baby. What'd you think of that?"

"Jinnie, girl, lass, you ain't tellin' me——"

"Yes, dear, he's there, as big as life and twice as natural, Peg says.... Of course," she rambled on, "the stork went away, but the Jew baby—to make a long story short, he's with——"

"His ma, eh, dear?" interjected Lafe. "How's Peg, honey?"

"Oh, she's fine," replied Jinnie, "and I've a lot to tell you, dearest."

"Begin," commanded Lafe, with wide, bright eyes.

Jinnie commenced by telling how lovely the baby was. Of course she didn't rehearse Peg's suffering. It wouldn't do any good.

"And the baby looks like you, Lafe," she observed.

"Does he really?" gasped Lafe, trying to smile.

"He's got your Jew look 'round his nose," added Jinnie gravely. "You wanted him to look like you, didn't you, Lafe?"

"Sure, Jinnie. And now about Peggy? Tell me about Peggy."

"Peggy's with us, Lafe——" Jinnie stopped and drew a long breath. "What'd you think? Oh—guess!"

"I couldn't! Tell me, Jinnie! Don't keep me waitin' for good things."

"Peggy's in the 'Happy in Spite', and I'm learning her all the verses you taught me."

Then Lafe's head dropped on his hands and tears trickled through his fingers.

"I wish I could see her," he groaned deeply.

"When she gets well, you can," promised Jinnie, "and mebbe the baby."

Lafe's head was raised quickly and his eyes sparkled.

"I'd love to see 'em both," was all he could stammer.

The girl thrust her fingers through the bars to him, and they stood thus, regarding each other in all confidence and faith, until Jinnie dropped his hand.

"Mr. King's getting well," she said softly.

"I'm glad, very glad. He don't think I done it, does he, Jinnie?"

"No, and when I see him I'll tell him you didn't."

And as if that settled it, she turned to go; then hesitating, she smiled upon him.

"Give me four nice kisses, Lafe. I'll take one to Peg, Bobbie, and the baby, and keep one for myself." Then after their lips had met through the bars in resounding smacks, Jinnie gasped, "We can't forget Milly Ann and Happy Pete. Two more, honey!"

"God bless you, Jinnie lass," murmured Lafe, trying to hide his emotion, and then he wheeled quickly back into the falling afternoon light under the window.

Jinnie's energetic mind was busy with a scheme. She wasn't sure it would meet with Peg's approval, but when she arrived home, she sat down beside Mrs. Grandoken.

"Now, Peggy," she began emphatically, "I want you to pay attention to what I'm saying to you."

"I will," said Peggy.

"Lafe wants to see the baby!"

"Now?" asked Mrs. Grandoken, surprised.

"Well, he didn't say just now, but his eyes asked it, and, Peg, I was wondering if I couldn't take the little kid up to the jail."

Peggy shook her head.

"They wouldn't let you in with 'im," she objected.

Jinnie thought a long time. Presently she laughed a little, chuckling laugh.

"I know how to get him in there!"

"How?" asked Peggy, incredulously.

"Why, everybody knows I've been a shortwood girl. I'll roll him up in a bundle——"

Peg's hand sought the little body under the covers protectingly.

"Oh, I won't hurt him, Peg," assured Jinnie. "We'll wrap him up the first fine day! You can do it yourself, dear."

One week later Jinnie went slowly up the incline that led to the prison. On her back was a shortwood strap filled with brush and small twigs.

"I want to see Lafe Grandoken," she said.

To surprise Lafe she crept softly along the corridor until she halted at his cell door. She could see him plainly, and the troubled lines were almost erased from between his brows. She was glad of that, for she wanted him to smile, to be "Happy in Spite."

She called his name and he turned, wheeling toward her.

"I hoped you'd be comin'," he said, smiling gravely. Then noting the shortwood, he exclaimed, "Have you had to go to work again, lass?"

"Just for to-day," and Jinnie displayed her white teeth in a broad smile. "I've brought you something, Lafe, and I wrapped it up in shortwood."

The girl carefully slipped the strap from her shoulders and sat down beside it on the floor. Watching eagerly, Lafe peered between the bars, for surely his Peggy had sent him some token of her love. The girl paused and looked up.

"Shut your eyes tight, Lafe," she commanded playfully.

Lafe closed his eyes, wrinkling down his lids. Then Jinnie lifted the baby and uncovered the small face. The little chap opened his eyes and yawned as the girl held him close to the bars.

"Now, Lafe, quick! Look! Ha! It's a Jew!"

The cobbler's eyes flew open, and he was staring squarely into a small, rosy, open-eyed baby face. For a moment he thought he was dreaming—dreaming a dream he had dreamed every night since the thunder storm. He caught at his chin to stay the chattering of his teeth.

"It ain't him, Jinnie, my Jew baby?" he murmured brokenly.

"Yes, 'tis," and she laughed. "It's your own little feller. I brought him to get a kiss from his daddy. Kiss him! Kiss him smack on the mouth, Lafe."

And Lafe kissed his baby—kissed him once, twice, and three times, gulping hard after each caress. He would never have enough of those sweet kisses, never, never! And as his lips descended reverently upon the smooth, rose-colored skin, Mr. Grandoken laughed, and Jinnie laughed, and the baby, too, wrinkled up his nose.

"Lafe," Jinnie said tenderly, drawing the baby away, "I knew you wanted to see him; didn't you?"

Lafe nodded. "An' I'll never be able to thank you for this, Jinnie.... Let me kiss him once more.... Oh, ain't he beautiful?"

Just before the girl wrapped the boy again in the shortwood, she suggested,

"Lafe, what's against taking him into the 'Happy in Spite'? He's happier'n any kid in the whole world, having you for a daddy and Peg for his mother."

Jinnie thrust the baby's plump hand through the bars, and Lafe, with tears in his eyes, shook it tenderly, then kissed it.

"Lafe Grandoken, Jr," he whispered, "you're now a member of the 'Happy in Spite' Club."

And then Jinnie took the baby back to Peggy.



CHAPTER XXXIX

JINNIE'S VISIT TO THEODORE

So suddenly had the two strong, friendly forces been swept from Jinnie's daily life that as yet she had not the power to think with precision. Lafe she had had every day for almost three years, and Theodore King—oh, how she loved him! Rumors were afloat that no power could save Lafe—her dear, brave cobbler.

Day by day the girl's faith increased, and of late she had uttered silent prayers that she might be allowed to see Theodore.

One morning she was in the kitchen rocking little Lafe when Peggy called her.

"There's some one to see you," said she.

Jinnie gave the mother her baby and went to the shop door. A man in a white suit smiled down upon her.

"I'm from the hospital," said he. "Mr. King would like to see you this morning."

Jinnie's heart seemed to climb into her throat.

"Mr. Theodore King?" she murmured.

"Yes," said the young man. "I've got a car here. Will you come?"

"Of course! Wait till I get my hat."

Once at their destination, they tiptoed into Theodore's room noiselessly, and as Jinnie stood over the bed, looking down upon him, she suffered keenly, he looked so deathlike; but she resolutely controlled her feelings. When Theodore glanced at her, she forced herself to smile, and the sight of the lovely girl refreshed the sick man, giving him a new impetus to recover.

He smiled back, endeavoring not to show his weakness.

"You see I'm getting well," he whispered.

Jinnie nodded. She wasn't sure whether he was or not. How her heart ached to do something for him!

One of his long, thin hands lay over the coverlet, and Jinnie wanted to kiss it. Tears were standing thick on her lashes.

The doctor stood beside her, consulting his watch.

"If you wish to speak, Mr. King," he said kindly, "you must do so quickly, for the young lady can stay but two minutes more. That's all!"

The doctor turned his back upon them, watch in hand.

"Kiss me, dear!" murmured Theodore.

Oblivious of the doctor's presence, Jinnie stooped and kissed him twice, taking the thin hand he extended.

"I sent for you because I feared you'd go to work at the wood again."

Jinnie would reassure him on this point even by an untruth, for she might be driven, for the sake of Peggy and the children, to go back into that hated occupation.

"I promise I won't," she said.

"Are you still taking lessons?"

Jinnie shook her head.

"I couldn't when you were sick. I just couldn't."

"But you must; you must go to-morrow. I have something here for you," he said, reaching under the pillow with his free hand.

Jinnie drew back abashed.

"You're too sick to think of us," she murmured.

Theodore raised her hand to his lips.

"No! No, darling, I think of you always—every day and shall even when I'm dead. You must take this money. Do you love me, dearest, very much?"

He smiled again as she stooped impetuously to kiss him, and with her face very close to his, she whispered,

"Lafe didn't do it, darling!"

"I know it," replied Theodore, closing his eyes.

Then the doctor turned and sent her away.

When she sank back in the automobile, Jinnie opened her hand with the roll of bills in it, and all the way home, she repeated, "He has given His angels charge over thee." She was hoping and praying for Theodore King.

Two days later, coming down the hill, she met Miss Merriweather on horseback. The young woman stopped her and asked her to accompany her home. Jennie hesitated. She still had memories of the cat sent to its death in Molly's fit of anger and the woman's chilling reception of her at the King dinner. Nevertheless she turned and walked slowly beside the horse. When they reached the porch of Mr. King's home, a groom came and led the animal away. Jinnie laid down her fiddle, taking the chair indicated by Molly. It had been Jordan Morse's idea that she should endeavor to again talk with the girl, but the woman scarcely knew how to begin. Jinnie looked so very lovely, so confiding, so infinitely sweet. Molly leaned over and said:

"Wasn't it queer how suddenly I remembered who you were? That night at the party your name refused to come to my mind. I've wanted to tell you several times how sorry I was about your accident!"

"I recognized you the minute I saw you," said Jinnie, smiling, relieved a little by Molly's apology.

"You've a good memory," answered Molly. "Now I want to tell you something, and I hope you'll be guided by my judgment."

Jinnie looked straight at her without a sign of acquiescence.

"What is it?" she asked presently.

"You must leave Grandoken's!"

Jinnie started to speak, but Molly's next words closed her lips.

"Please don't get nervous! Listen to me! You're a very young and very pretty girl and there—there is some one interested in you."

Jinnie pricked up her ears. Some one interested in her! Of course she knew who it was. Theodore! But she wouldn't leave Peggy even for him, and the thought that he would not ask this of her brought her exquisite joy.

"Is it Mr. King who's interested in me?" she asked, timidly.

Molly's eyes narrowed into small slits.

"No, it isn't Mr. King who's interested in you!" she replied a trifle mockingly. "Mr. King's too sick to be interested in anybody."

Jinnie couldn't refrain from saying, "He looked awful ill when I saw him at the hospital."

Molly stared at her blankly. She grew dizzy and very angry. This girl always made her rage within herself.

"You've seen him since—since——"

A maddened expression leapt into Molly's eyes.

"I drive there every day, but they won't let me see him," she said, reddening.

"Mr. King sent for me," Jinnie replied, resolutely.

And as the girl admitted this, with deepening flushes, Molly looked away. When she had first spoken of Jinnie's future to Jordan Morse, she had pleaded with him to be kind to her, but now she could surround that white throat and strangle the breath from it without compunction.

"Will you tell me what he said to you?" she queried, trying to hide her anger.

Jinnie looked down, and locked her fingers together.

"I can't tell," she said at length, moving in discomfort.

She wanted to go—to get away from the woman who looked at her so analytically, so resentfully. She got up nervously and picked up her fiddle.

"Don't go," urged Molly, starting forward.

Then she laughed a little and went on, "I suppose I did feel a bit jealous at first because we—Mr. King and I—have been friends so many years. But now we won't think any more about it. I do want you to go from that terrible Paradise Road. It's no place for a girl in your position."

"You've told me that before," retorted Jinnie, with clouded eyes. "My position isn't anything. I haven't any other home, and I'm a sort of a helper to Peggy."

A helper to Peggy! Doubtless if Lafe had heard that he would have smiled. Truly she was a wonderful little helper, but she was more than that, much more—helper, friend, and protector all in one.

"Another thing," added Jinnie quickly, "I love 'em all."

"You've your own home in Mottville," the woman suggested. "You ought to be there."

Jinnie sank back into the chair.

"Oh, I couldn't ever go there!" she cut in swiftly. "But I can't tell you why."

"Don't you want me to help you?"

Jinnie shook her head doubtfully.

"It wouldn't help any, taking me away from Peggy. I'd rather you'd do something for Lafe. Help him get out of prison. Will you?"

"I'm not interested in him," said Molly. "But I am in you——"

"Why?" blurted Jinnie.

Molly colored.

"One can't explain an interest like mine. But I'd go back to Mottville with you, and help you with your——"

Jinnie shook her head violently.

"I wouldn't go there for anything in the world," she interjected.

"I can't understand why not!"

"Well, first I couldn't, and I won't.... Then Peggy needs me in Paradise Road, and there's the baby and Bobbie."

"Who's Bobbie?"

"Our little kid," replied Jinnie, smiling sweetly.

She did not think it necessary to explain that she had found Bobbie in the woods. He was as much one of them as Lafe's baby or herself. Neither did she speak of the boy's pitiful condition.

In spite of Jinnie's absolute refusal, Molly went on:

"But you don't understand. You've got your own life to think of!"

Jinnie burst in with what she thought was a clinching triumph.

"I take lessons on my fiddle every day. Some time I hope——"

Molly's eyes gleamed again.

"How can you afford to take lessons?"

The questioner read the truth in the burning blush that swept the girl's dark hair line, and her little white teeth came together.

"Mr. Grandoken is not your uncle," she snapped.

"He's more'n my uncle; he's a father to me, and when he comes home——"

"He's not coming home. Murderers don't get off so easily."

Jinnie got up and again picked her fiddle from the floor.

"He isn't a murderer!" she stammered, with filling eyes. "Lafe wouldn't kill anything.... I've been with him almost three years and I know. Why, he wouldn't let Peg or me swat flies."

Miss Merriweather saw her mistake. She realized then as never before that nothing could take from the girl her belief in the cobbler.

"Sit down," she urged. "Don't go yet."

"I don't want to sit down," said Jinnie, very much offended. "I'm going! I'm sorry you think Lafe——"

Molly rose too. Impetuously she held out her hand.

"I really shouldn't have spoken that way, because I don't know a thing about it."

Jinnie relented a little, but not enough to sit down. She was too deeply hurt to accept Molly's hospitality further.

"And we musn't quarrel, child," decided the woman. "Now won't you reconsider my proposition? I should love to do something for you."

Resolutely the dark curls shook in refusal.

"I'm going to stay with Peggy till Lafe gets out, and then when I'm eighteen I'm going to school. I've been studying a lot since I left Mottville.... Why sometimes——" she resumed eagerly, "when we haven't had enough to eat, Lafe's made me buy a book to study out of, and I promised him I'd stay with his family till he came back. And——" she walked to the edge of the porch, turning suddenly, "and he's coming back, all right," she ended, going down the stairs.

Molly watched the slim young figure swing out to the road. The girl didn't look around, and the woman waited until she had disappeared through the gate.

"He'll not get out, and you, you little upstart," she gritted, "you'll not stay in Paradise Road, either."



CHAPTER XL

AN APPEAL TO JINNIE'S HEART

One afternoon she was on her way home from her lesson when she heard a voice call, "Miss Grandoken!" She glanced up swiftly, recognizing the speaker immediately. He had been present that first night she had played for Theodore's guests, and she remembered vividly her intuitive dislike of him; but because he was a friend of Theodore's she went forward eagerly. The man drove his car to the side of the pavement and bowed.

"Would you care to be of service to Mr. King?" he asked, smiling.

Jinnie noticed his dazzling teeth and scarlet lips.

"Oh, yes, indeed! I wish I might."

"Then come with me," replied the man. "Will you?"

Without fear she entered the open car door and sat down, placing her violin on the seat beside her. She sank back with a sigh. The time had come she had so longed for; she was going to do something for Theodore. She was glad now she had consented to take two lessons that day, or she would have missed this blessed opportunity to show her gratitude to her dear one, in acts, as well as words. The car turned and sped up the hill.

If Jinnie wondered where the man was taking her, she did not allude to it. They were driving in the same direction she took every day to visit the master, and the very familiarity of it turned aside any question that arose in her mind. As he helped her from the machine, she looked up at the sombre building in front of them. In passing it daily she had often wondered what it was and if any one lived within its vast stone walls. One hasty glance, as she was being ushered in, showed paint pails, brushes, and long ropes fastened from the roof to broad planks below.

"Miss Merriweather will be here very soon," the man explained good-naturedly. "She wants you to go with her to the hospital."

Jinnie's mind flew to that one time she had visited Theodore's sick bed. She would be glad to see Molly the Merry.

She had forgiven all the woman's cruelty.

The long flights of stairs they mounted were dark and uncarpeted. Their footsteps made a hollow sound through the wide corridors, and there was no other sign of human life about the place. But still Jinnie followed the man in front of her, up and up, until she had counted five floors. Then he took a key from his pocket and put it in the lock, turning it with a click.

Jinnie waited until, stepping inside, he turned and smilingly bade her enter. There was so little natural suspicion in the girl's heart that she never questioned the propriety, much less the safety, of coming into a strange place with an unknown man. Her dear one was ill. She was anxious to see him again, to help him if possible. She felt a little shy at the thought of seeing Miss Merriweather once more. The man led her to an inner room and suavely waved to a chair, asking her to be seated. Casting anxious eyes about the place, she obeyed.

"I'm going after Miss Merriweather now, if you'll wait a few moments," explained the stranger. "She wasn't ready and asked me to bring you first. I think she's preparing a surprise for Mr. King."

Jinnie's tender little heart warmed toward Molly the Merry. Just then she had untold gratitude for the woman who was allowing her to take Theodore something with her own hands. Oh, what joy!

She smiled back at the speaker as he moved toward the door. Then he left her, asking her politely to make herself at home until he returned.

Jinnie waited and waited until she thought she couldn't possibly wait any longer. Peg would be worried, terribly worried, and little Bobbie wouldn't eat his supper without her. But because of Miss Merriweather's kindness and her own great desire to see her sweetheart, she must stay until the last moment. She grew tired, stiff with sitting, and the little clock on the mantel told her she'd been there over two hours. She got up and went to the window. The building stood high on a large wooded bluff overlooking a deep gorge. The landscape before her interested her exceedingly, and took her in fancy to the wilderness of Mottville. The busy birds fluttered to and fro, twittering sleepily to each other, and for a short time the watcher forgot her anxiety in the majesty of the scene.

Miles of hills and miles and miles of water stretched northward as far as her eyes could discern anything. The same water passed and repassed the old farmhouse, and for some time Jinnie tried to locate some familiar spot, off where the sky dipped to the lake. It wasn't until she noticed the hands of the clock pointed to half past six that she became terribly nervous.

She wanted to go to the hospital and get back to Peg. Mrs. Grandoken couldn't leave the baby with Blind Bobbie, and there was supper to buy. Once more she paced the rooms, then back to the window. She shivered for some unknown reason, and a sharp consciousness of evil suddenly grew out of the lengthening hours. With the gathering dusk the hills and gorge had fallen into voiceless silence, and because her nerves tingled with vague fear, Jinnie drew the curtains to shut out the yawning dark, and lighted a lamp on the table.

The room was arranged simply with a small divan, at the head of which was a pillow. Jinnie sat down and leaned back. Her face held a look of serious attention. She wondered if anything had happened to Molly the Merry. Then abruptly she decided to go downstairs. If they weren't coming, she'd have to go home. She went to the door and, turning the knob, pulled hard. The door was locked, and the key was gone! Her discovery seemed to unmake her life in a twinkling. She was like one stricken with death—pale, cold and shivering. She did not know what she was going to do, but she must act—she must do something! A round of inspection showed her she could not open one of the doors. The windows, too, had several nails driven into their tops and along the sides, and the doors were securely fastened with keys. She went back to the window, raised the curtains, and looked out into the gloom. There was not another light to be seen.

The clock on the mantel had struck nine, and Jinnie had grown so horrified she dared not sit down. Many a time she went to the door and pressed her ear to it, but no sound came through the deep silence.

It was after eleven when she dropped on the divan and drew the coverlet over her. The next she knew, daylight was streaming in upon her face.



CHAPTER XLI

JINNIE'S PLEA

Jinnie sprang up, unable at first to remember where she was. Then it all came to her. She was locked away from the world in a big house overlooking the gorge. However, the morning brought a clear sun, dissipating some of her fear—filling her with greater hope.

The dreadful dreams during the night had been but dreams of fear and pain—of eternal separation from her loved ones. Such dreams, such fears, were foolish! No one could take her away from Peggy. She wouldn't go! Ah, the man would return very soon with Molly the Merry.

The clock struck eight. What would Blind Bobbie think—and Peggy? The woman might decide she had left her forever; but no, no, Peg couldn't think that!

Childlike, she was hungry. If some one had intentionally imprisoned her, they must have left her something to eat. Investigation brought forth some cold meat, a bottle of milk, and some bread. Jinnie ate all she could swallow. Then for an hour and a half she paced up and down, wishing something would happen, some one would come. Anything would be better than such deadly uncertainty.

Perhaps it was the overwhelming stillness of the building, possibly a natural alertness indicative of her fear, that allowed Jinnie to catch the echoes of footsteps at the farther end of the corridor. But before she got to the door, a key grated in the lock, and the man who had brought her there was standing beside her. Their eyes met in a clinging, challenging glance—the blue of the one clashing with the sinister grey, as steel strikes fire from steel. An insolent smile broke over his face and he asked nonchalantly:

"Did you find the food?"

Jinnie did not answer. She stood contemplating his face. How she hated his smile, his white teeth, and his easy, suave manner. Their glances battled again for a moment across the distance.

"Why did you bring me here?" she demanded abruptly.

He spread his feet outward and hummed, toying the while with a smooth white chin.

"Sit down," said he, with assumed politeness.

Jinnie stared at him with contemptuous dread in her eyes.

"I don't want to; I want to know why I'm here."

"Can't you guess?" asked the stranger with an easy shrug.

"No," said Jinnie. "Why?"

"And you can't guess who I am?"

"No," repeated Jinnie once more, passionately, "and I want to know why I'm here."

He came toward her, piercing her face with a pair of compelling, mesmeric eyes that made her stagger back to the wall. Then he advanced a step nearer, covering the space Jinnie had yielded.

"I'm Jordan Morse," he then said, clipping his words off shortly.

If a gun had burst in Jinnie's face, she could have been no more alarmed. She was frozen to silence, and every former fear her father had given life to almost three years before, beset her once more, only with many times the amount of vigor. Nevertheless, she gave back look for look, challenge for challenge, while her fingers locked and interlocked. Her uncle, who had sent her father to his grave, the man who wanted her money, who desired her own death!

Then her eyes slowly took on a tragic expression. She knew then she was destined to encounter the tragedy of Morse's terrific vengeance, and no longer wondered why her father had succumbed to his force. He stood looking at her, his gaze taking in the young form avidiously.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world," he averred presently.

Jinnie's blue eyes narrowed angrily. However, in spite of her rage, she was terribly frightened. An instinct of self-preservation told her to put on a bold, aggressive front.

"Give me that key and let me go," she insisted, with an upward toss of her head.

She walked to the door and shook it vigorously. Morse followed her and brought her brutally back to the center of the room.

"Not so fast," he grated. "Don't ever do that again! I've been hunting you for almost three years.... Sit down, I said."

"I won't!" cried Jinnie, recklessly. "I won't! You can't keep me here. My friends'll find me."

The man hazarded a laugh.

"What friends?" he queried.

Jinnie thought quickly. What friends? She had no friends just then, and because she knew she was dependent upon him for her very life, she listened in despair as he threw a truth at her.

"The only friends you have're out of business! Lafe Grandoken will be electrocuted for murder——"

The hateful thing he had just said and the insistence in it maddened her. She covered her face with her hands and uttered a low cry.

"And Theodore King is in the hospital," went on Morse, mercilessly. "It'll do no good for you to remember him."

She was too normally alive not to express the loving heart outraged within her.

"I shall love him as long as I live," she shivered between her fingers.

"Hell of a lot of good it'll do you," grunted the man coarsely.

Keen anxiety empowered her to raise an anguished face.

"You want my money——" she hesitated. "Well, you can have it.... You want it, don't you?"

Her girlish helplessness made Morse feel that he was without heart or dignity, but he thought of his little boy and of how this girl was keeping from him the means to institute a search for the child, and his desire for vengeance kindled to glowing fires of hate. He remembered that, steadily of late, he had grown to detest the whole child-world because of his own sorrow, and nodded acquiescence, supplementing the nod with a harsh:

"And, by God, I'm going to have it, too!"

"Then let me go back to Lafe's shop. I'll give you every cent I have.... I won't even ask for a dollar."

It took some time for Morse to digest this idea; then he slowly shook his head.

"You wouldn't be allowed to give me what would be mine——"

"If I die," breathed Jinnie, shocked. She had read his thought and blurted it forth.

"Yes, if you die. But I haven't any desire to kill you.... I have another way."

"What way? Oh, tell me!"

"Not now," drawled Morse. "Later perhaps."

The man contemplated the tips of his boots a minute. Then he looked at her, the meditative expression still in his eyes.

"To save your friends," he said at length, "you've got to do what I want you to."

"You mean—to save Lafe?" gasped Jinnie, eagerly.

Morse gave a negative gesture.

"No, not him. The cobbler's got to go. He knows too much about me."

Jinnie thought of Lafe, who loved and helped everybody within helping distance, of his wonderful faith and patience, of the day they had arrested him, and his last words.

She could not plan for herself nor think of her danger, only of the cobbler, her friend,——the man who had taken her, a little forlorn fugitive, when she had possessed no home of her own—he who had taught her about the angels and the tenderness of Jesus. From her uncle's last statement she had received an impression that he knew who had fired those shots. He could have Lafe released if he would. She would beg for the cobbler's life, beg as she had never begged before.

"Please, please, listen," she implored, throwing out her hands. "You must! You must! Lafe's always been so good. Won't you let him live?... I'll tell him about your wanting the money.... You shall have it! I'll make any promise for him you want me to, and he'll keep it.... He didn't kill Maudlin Bates, and I believe you know who did."

Morse lowered his lids until his eyes looked like grey slits across his face.

"Supposing I do," he taunted. "As I've said, Grandoken knows too much about me. He won't be the first one I've put out of my way."

He said this emphatically; he would teach her he was not to be thwarted; that when he desired anything, Heaven and earth, figuratively speaking, would have to move. He frowned darkly at her as Jinnie cut in swiftly:

"You killed my father. He told me you did."

Morse flicked an ash from a cigar he had lighted, and his eyes grew hard, like rocks in a cold, gray dawn.

"So you know all my little indiscretions, eh?" he gritted. "Then don't you see I can't give you—your liberty?"

Liberty! What did he mean by taking her liberty away? She asked him with beating heart.

"Just this, my dear child," he advanced mockingly. "There are places where people're taken care of and—the world thinks them dead. In fact, your father had a taste of what I can do. Only he happened to——"

"Did you put him somewhere?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Same kind of a place I'm going to put you——" He hesitated a moment and ended, "A mad house!"

"Did you let him come home to me?"

"Not I. Damn the careless keepers! He skipped out one day, and I didn't know until he'd a good start of me. I followed as soon as possible, but you were gone. Now—now—then, to find such a place for you!"

Jinnie's imagination called up the loathsome thing he mentioned and terrified her to numbness. At that moment she understood what her father had written in that sealed letter to Lafe Grandoken.

But she couldn't allow her mind to dwell upon his threat against herself.

"What'd you mean when you said I could save my friends?"

"You're fond of Mrs. Grandoken, aren't you?"

Jinnie nodded, trying to swallow a lump in her throat.

"And—and there's a—a—blind child too—who could be hurt easily."

Jinnie's living world reeled before her eyes. During this speech she had lost every vestige of color. She sprang toward him and her fingers went blue-white from the force of her grip on his arm.

"Oh, you couldn't, you wouldn't hurt poor little Bobbie?" she cried hysterically. "He can't see and he's sick, terribly ill all the time. I'll do anything you say—anything to help 'em."

Then she fell to the floor, groveling at his feet.

"Get up! You needn't cry; things'll be easy enough for you if you do exactly as I tell you. The first order I give you is to stay here quietly until I come again."

As he spoke, he lifted her up, and she stood swaying pitiably.

"Can't I let Peg know where I am?" she entreated when she could speak. "Please! Please!"

"I should think not," scoffed Morse. Then, after a moment's consideration, he went on, "You might write her a note, if you say what I dictate. I'll have it mailed from another town. I don't want any one to know you're still in Bellaire."

"Could I send her a little money, too?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Morse.

"Then tell me what to write, and I will."

After he had gone and Jinnie was once more alone, she sat at the window, her eyes roving over the landscape. Her gaze wandered in melancholy sadness to the shadowy summit of the distant hills, in which the wild things of nature lived in freedom, as she herself had lived with Lafe Grandoken in Paradise Road, long before her uncle's menacing shadow had crossed her life. Then her eyes lowered to the rock-rimmed gorge, majestic in its eternal solitude. She was on the brink of some terrible disaster. She knew enough of her uncle's character to realize that. She spent the entire day without even looking at her beloved fiddle, and after the night closed in, she lay down, thoroughly exhausted.

Peggy took a letter from the postman's hand mechanically, but when she saw the well-known writing, she trembled so she nearly dropped the missive from her fingers. She went into the shop, where Bobbie lay face downward on the floor. At her entrance, he lifted a white face.

"Has Jinnie come yet?" he asked faintly.

"No," said Peg, studying the postmark of the letter. Then she opened it. A five-dollar bill fell into her lap, and she thrust it into her bosom with a sigh.

* * * * *

"PEGGY DARLING," she read with misty eyes.

"I've had to go away for a little while. Don't worry. Here's some money. Use it and I'll send more. Kiss Bobbie for me and tell him Jinnie'll come back soon. And the baby, oh, Peggy, hug him until he can't be hugged any more. Don't tell Lafe I'm away.

"With all my love, "JINNIE."

* * * * *

Peggy put down the letter.

"Bobbie!" she said.

The boy looked up. "I ain't got any stars, Peggy," he wailed tragically. "I want Jinnie and Lafe."

"I've got a letter from Jinnie here," announced Peggy.

The boy got to his feet instantly.

"When she's comin' back?"

"She don't say, but she sends a lot of kisses and love to you. She had to go away for a few days.... Now don't snivel!... Come here an' I'll give you the kisses she sent."

He nestled contentedly in Peggy's arms.

"Let me feel the letter," came a faltering whisper presently.

Bobbie ran his fingers over the paper, trying with sensitive finger tips to follow the ink traces.

"Can I keep it a little while?" he begged.... "Please, Peggy!"

"Sure," said Peg, putting him down, and when the baby cried, Mrs. Grandoken left the blind child hugging Happy Pete, with Jinnie's letter flattened across his chest between him and the dog.



CHAPTER XLII

BOBBIE TAKES A TRIP

Jinnie had been gone two weeks. Nearly every day the postman brought a letter from the girl to Peggy, and after reading it several times to herself, she gave it to Blind Bobbie. Mrs. Grandoken had discovered this was the way to keep him quiet.

One afternoon the boy sat on the front steps of the cobbler's shop, sunning himself.

"You can hear Jinnie better when she comes," said Peg, as an excuse to coax him out of doors. "Now sit there till I get back from the market."

Bobbie had Happy Pete in his arms when he heard strange footsteps walking down the short flight of steps. He lifted his head as he heard a voice speak his name.

"Bobbie," it said softly. "Are you Bobbie?"

"Yes," replied the boy tremblingly.

The soft voice spoke again. "Do you want to see Jinnie?"

Bobbie clutched Happy Pete with one arm and struggled up, holding out a set of slender fingers that shook like small reeds in a storm.

"Yes, I want to see 'er," he breathed. "Do you know where she is?"

"If you'll come along with me, I'll take you to her. Bring the dog if you like."

"I want to see her to-day," stated Bobbie.

Jordan Morse took Bobbie's hand in his.

"Come on then, and don't make a noise," cautioned the man. "Put down the dog; he'll follow you."

Once in Paradise Road, he stooped and lifted the slight boyish figure and walked quickly away. Beyond the turn in the road stood his car. He placed Bobbie and the dog on the seat beside him, and in another moment they were speeding toward the hill.

At that moment Jinnie was brooding over her violin. Her fiddle was her only comfort in the lonely hours. The plaintive tones she drew from it were the only sounds she heard, save the rushing water in the gorge and the thrashing of the trees when the wind blew. The minutes hung long on her hands, and the hours seemed to mock her as they dragged along in interminable sequence. With her face toward the window, she passed several hours composing a piece which had been in embryo in her heart for a long time. The solitude, the grandeur of the scenery, the wonderful lake with its curves and turns, sometimes made her forget the tragic future that lay before her.

She was just finishing with lingering, tender notes when Jordan Morse came quickly through the corridor.

Bobbie stiffened in his arms suddenly.

"I hear Jinnie's fiddle," he gasped. "I'm goin' to my Jinnie."

When the key turned in the lock, the girl came to the door. At first she didn't notice the blind child, but her name, unsteadily called, brought her eyes to the little figure. Happy Pete recognized her with a wild yelp, wriggled himself past the other two, and whiningly crouched at her feet. Jinnie had them both in her arms before Morse turned the key again in the lock.

"Bobbie and Happy Pete!" she cried. Then she got up and flashed tearful eyes upon Morse.

"What did you bring them for? Did you tell Peg?"

"No, I didn't tell Peg and—and I brought him——" he paused and beckoned her with an upward toss of his chin.

Jinnie followed him agitatedly.

"I brought him," went on Morse, "because I don't just like your manner. I brought him as a lever to move you with, miss."

Then he left hurriedly, something unknown within him stirring with life. He decided afterward it was the sight of the blind child's golden head pressed against Jinnie's breast that had so upset him.

As he drove away, he crushed a desire to return again, to take them both, boy and girl, back to the cobbler's shop. But he must not allow his better emotions to attack him in this matter. He had known for a long time Jinnie could be wielded through her affection for the lad. He thought of his own child somewhere in the world and what it meant to him to possess Jinnie's money, and set his teeth. He would bring the girl to his terms through her love for the slender blind boy.

That day Jinnie wrote a letter to Peg, telling her that Bobbie was with her, and Happy Pete, too.

The stolid woman had quite given way under the mysterious disappearance of the boy. When she returned home, she searched every lane leading to the marshes until dusk. In fact, she stumbled far into the great waste place, calling his name over and over. He was the last link that held her to the days when Lafe had been in the shop, and Peg would have given much if her conscience would cease lashing her so relentlessly. It eased her anxiety a little when a new resolution was born in her stubborn heart. If they all came back to the shop, she'd make up to them in some way for her ugly conduct. With this resolve, she went home to her own baby, sorrowful, dejected and lonely.

All the evening while Peg was mourning for them, Jinnie sat cuddling Bobbie, until the night put its dark hood on the ravine and closed it in a heavy gloom. Happy Pete, with wagging tail, leaned against the knees of the girl, and there the three of them remained in silence until Bobbie, lifting his face, said quiveringly:

"Peggy almost died when you went away, Jinnie."

Jinnie felt her throat throb.

"Tell me about it," she said hoarsely.

"There ain't much to tell," replied the child, sighing, "only Peggy was lonely. She only had me and the baby, and I didn't have any stars and the baby's got no teeth."

"And the baby? Is he well, dear?" questioned Jinnie.

"Oh, fine!" the boy assured her. "He's growed such a lot. I felt his face this morning, and oh, my, Jinnie, his cheeks puff out like this!"

Bobbie gathered in a long breath, and puffed out his own thin, drawn cheeks.

"Just like that!" he gasped, letting out the air.

"And Lafe?" ventured Jinnie.

"Lafe's awful bad off, I guess. Bates' little boy told me he was going to die——"

"No, Bobbie, no, he isn't!" Jinnie's voice was sharp in protestation.

"Yes, he is!" insisted Bobbie. "Bates' boy told me so! He said Lafe wouldn't ever come back to the shop, 'cause everybody says he killed Maudlin."

As the words left his lips, he began to sob. "I want my cobbler," he screamed loudly, "and I want my beautiful stars!"

"Bobbie, Bobbie, you'll be sick if you scream that way. There, there, honey!" Jinnie hushed him gently.

"I want to be 'Happy in Spite'," the boy went on. But his words brought before the pale girl that old, old memory of the cobbler who had invented the club for just such purposes as this. How could she be 'Happy in Spite' when Bobbie suffered; when Peg and baby Lafe needed her; happy when Lafe faced an ignominious death for a crime he had not committed; happy when her beloved was perhaps still very ill in the hospital? She got up and began to walk to and fro. Suddenly she paused in her even march across the room. Unless she steadied her fluttering, stinging nerves, she'd never be able to still the wretched boy. There's an old saying that when one tries to help others, winged aid will come to the helper. And so it was with Jinnie. She had only again taken Bobbie close when there came to her Lafe's old, old words: "He hath given his angels charge over thee."

"Bobbie," she said softly, "I'm going to play for you."

As Jinnie straightened his limp little body out on the divan, she noticed how very thin he had become, how his heart throbbed continually, how the agonized lines drew and pursed the sensitive, delicate mouth.

Then she played and played and played, and ever in her heart to the rhythm of her music were the words, "His angels shall have charge over thee." Suddenly there came to her a great belief that out of her faith and Lafe's faith would come Bobbie's good, and Peg's good, and especially the good of the man shut up in the little cell. When the boy grew sleepy, Jinnie made him ready for bed.

"I'll lie down with you, Bobbie," she whispered, "and Happy Pete can sleep on the foot of the bed."

And as the pair of sad little souls slept, Lafe's angels kept guard over them.



CHAPTER XLIII

THEODORE SENDS FOR MOLLY

Theodore King was rallying rapidly in the hospital. All danger of blood poison had passed, and though he was still very weak, his surgeon had ceased to worry, and the public at large sat back with a sigh, satisfied that the wealthiest and most promising young citizen in the county had escaped death at the hand of an assassin.

One morning a telephone message summoned Molly Merriweather to the hospital. In extreme agitation she dressed quickly, telling Mrs. King she would return very soon. Never had she been so hilariously happy. Jinnie Grandoken had disappeared, as if she had been sunk in the sea. Molly now held the whip hand over her husband; she could force him to divorce her quietly. It was true of them both now their principal enemies were out of the way. Theo was getting well, and would come home in a few days.

While she had thought him dying, nothing save Jordan's tales of the girl's experiences in the gorge house had been able to rouse her to more than momentary interest.

With glowing cheeks she followed the hospital attendant through a long corridor to Theodore's room. She entered softly and for a moment stood gazing at him admiringly. How very handsome he was, even with the hospital pallor! When the sick man became cognizant of Molly's presence, he turned and smiled a greeting. He indicated a chair, and she sank into it.

"You sent for me, Theodore?" she reminded him softly, bending forward.

"Yes."

He was silent so long, evidently making up his mind to something, that Molly got up and smoothed out his pillow. Theodore turned to her after she had reseated herself.

"Molly," he began, "do you know where Jinnie Grandoken is?"

Molly's eyelids narrowed. So he was still thinking of the girl!

"No," she said deliberately.

"It seems strange," went on King somberly. "I've tried every way I know how to discover her whereabouts, and can't. I sent to the Grandoken's for her, but she was gone."

"You still care for her then?" queried Molly dully.

"Yes. I know you dislike the poor child, but I thought if you knew that I—well, I really love her, you might help me, Molly."

It was a bitter harvest to reap after all these weeks of waiting—his telling her he loved another woman—and as his voice rang with devotion for Jinnie Grandoken, Molly restrained herself with difficulty. She dared not lose her temper, as she had several times before under like conditions. With her hands folded gracefully in her lap, she replied:

"If I could help you, Theo, I would; but if Mrs. Grandoken doesn't know where her own niece is, how should I know?"

"You're so clever," sighed Theodore, "I imagined you might be able to discover something where a woman like Mrs. Grandoken would fail. She's got a young child, I hear."

"What do you suggest?" inquired Molly presently.

"I want to find out quickly where she's gone," the sick man said bluntly.

"You want to see her?" demanded Molly.

Theodore nodded.

"Yes, I'd get well sooner if I could," and he sighed again. Then his ivory skin grew scarlet even to his temples, but the blood rushed away, leaving him deathly white. Molly went to him quickly and leaned over the bed. She wanted—oh, how she wanted to feel his arms about her! But he only touched her cold hand lightly.

"Help me, Molly," he breathed.

Molly choked back an explanation. She would glory in doing anything for him—anything within her power; but nothing, nothing for Jinnie Grandoken. Suddenly an idea took possession of her. She would make him doubt Jinnie's love for him, even if she lied to him.

"Of course I knew you cared for her," she said slowly.

"Yes, I made that clear, I think," said Theo, "and she cares for me. I told you I asked her to marry me."

He laid stress on the latter half of his statement because of a certain emphasis in Molly's.

"I don't like to hurt you—while you're ill," she ventured.

Theodore thrust forth his hand eagerly.

"Come closer," he pleaded. "You know something; you can tell me. Please do, Molly."

"I don't know much, mind you, Theo——"

"Take hold of my hand, Molly!... Please don't keep me in such suspense."

She drew her chair closer to the bed, her heart throbbing first with desire, then with anger, and laid her white fingers in his.

"Tell me," insisted Mr. King.

"There was a boy——"

"You mean the little blind boy?"

"No, no," denied Molly, paling. The very mention of such an affliction hurt her sadly. "No," she said again, "I mean a friend of the boy who was shot; you remember him?"

"Oh, I remember Maudlin Bates; certainly I do; but I don't think I heard of any other."

Molly hadn't either; she had shot at random and the shot told.

Theodore sat up in bed with whitening face.

"Molly," he stammered, "Molly, has any one hurt her? Has——"

Molly shook her head disgustedly.

"Don't be foolish, Theo," she chided. "No one would want to hurt a grown girl like her."

"Then what about the man?"

"I think she went away with him."

"Where to?"

"I'm not sure——"

Theodore sank back. Molly's fingers slipped from his, and for a moment he covered his face with his hands, soundless sobs shaking his weak body. The woman knew by his appearance that he believed her absolutely.

"It'll kill me!" he got out at last.

Molly slipped an arm under his head. She had never seen him in such a state.

"Theo, don't! Don't!" she implored. "Please don't shake so, and I'll tell you all I know."

"Very well!... I'm listening."

The words were scarcely audible, but Molly knew and hugged the thought that his belief in Jinnie Grandoken had been shaken.

"Did you hear that Jinnie was in Binghamton?"

"Yes," murmured Theodore.

The woman released her hold on Theodore, and said:

"The man was over there with her."

Theodore turned his face quickly away and groaned.

"That's enough," he said. "Don't tell me any more."

They were quiet for a long time—very quiet.

Then Molly, with still enlarging plans, burst out:

"What if I should bring her back to you, Theo?"

He flashed dark-circled eyes toward her.

"Could you?" he asked drearily.

"I think so, perhaps. Suppose you write her a little note, and then——"

"Ring the bell for writing material quickly."

He had all his old-time eagerness. He was partly sitting up, and Molly placed another pillow under his head.

Theodore wrote steadily for some moments. Then he addressed an envelope to "Jinnie Grandoken," placed the letter in it, and fastened down the flap.

"You won't mind?" he asked wearily, handing it to Molly and sinking back.

Molly took the letter, and with a few more words, went out. Once at home in her bedroom, she sat down, breathing deeply. With a hearty good will she could have torn the letter into shreds, but instead she ripped open the envelope and read it.

After she had finished, she let the paper flutter from her hand and sat thinking for a long time. Then, sighing, she got up and tucked the letter inside her dress.



CHAPTER XLIV

MOLLY GIVES AN ORDER TO JINNIE

A motor car dashed to the side of the street, and Jordan Morse helped Molly to the pavement. She stood for a moment looking at the gorge building contemplatively.

"And she's been here all the while?" she remarked.

"Yes, and a devil of a time I've had to keep her, too. If there'd been any one in the whole place, I believe she'd have made them hear; though since the boy came she's behaved better." Morse's face became positively brutal under recollections. "I've made her mind through him," he terminated.

Jinnie had put Bobbie into bed and kissed him, and soon the child was breathing evenly. She knew Jordan Morse would come that night, so she closed the door between the two rooms and walked nervously up and down. Bobbie was always ill for hours after Morse had made his daily calls. She hoped the man would allow the child to remain in bed. When the key grated in the lock, she was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes fastened on the door. Every time he came, she had hopes that he might relent, if but a little.

Morse entered, followed by Molly the Merry. Jinnie took a step forward when she saw the woman. Molly paused and inspected sharply the slim young figure, her mind comprehending all its loveliness. Then woman to woman they measured each other, as only women can. Jinnie advanced impulsively.

"You've come to take me home!" she breathed.

Molly shook her head.

"I've come to talk to you," she retorted hoarsely.

Never had she seen so beautiful a girl! The martyrdom Jinnie had endured had only enhanced her attractiveness.

"Sit down," said Molly peevishly.

Jinnie made a negative gesture.

"I'm tired of sitting.... Oh, you will do something for me, something for poor little Bobbie?"

Morse moved to the door between the two rooms, but Jinnie rushed in front of him.

"He's asleep," she said beseechingly. "Don't wake him up! He's had a dreadful spell with his heart to-day."

Morse turned inquiring eyes upon Molly.

"You wanted to see him, didn't you?" he asked.

Molly flung out a hand pettishly.

"Let him sleep," she replied. "I don't want to be bored with fits and tears."

Jinnie sank into a chair.

"He ought to have a doctor," she sighed, as if she were speaking to herself. Then turning to Molly, she bent an entreating look upon her.

"Please do something for him. Get a doctor, oh, do! He's so little and so sick."

"I'm not a bit interested in him," replied Molly with a shrug.

Jinnie's nerves had borne all they could. She trembled unceasingly. The girlish spirit had been broken by Morse's continual persecution.

"He's so little," she petitioned again, "and he can't live long."

As Molly had said, she was not interested in the sleeping child. The only time she cared to hear him mentioned was when Jordan told her of Jinnie's anguish over his treatment of the child. She had delighted in his vividly described scene of how he had forced the girl to do his will through her love for the little fellow. Now she, too, would wreak her vengeance on Jinnie through the same source.

"I've come to tell you something about Theodore King," she remarked slowly, watching the girl avidly the while.

Jinnie sat up quickly. If her dear one had sent her a message, then he must know where she was.

"Then tell it," was all she said.

Molly put her hand into a leather hand bag and drew forth a letter.

"It isn't for you," she stated, with glinting eyes. "I've known for a long time you thought he cared for you——"

"He does," interjected Jinnie emphatically.

"I think not. Here's a letter he wrote to me. It will dispel any idea you may have about his affection for you."

"I don't wish to read your letter," said Jinnie proudly.

"Read it!" ordered Morse frowning, and because she feared him, Jinnie took the letter nervously. The woman's words had shattered her last hope. For a moment the well-known handwriting whirled; then the words came clearly before her vision:

* * * * *

"MY DARLING," she read.

"Won't you come to me when you get this? My heart aches to have you once more in my arms. I shall expect you very soon. With all my love,

"THEODORE."

* * * * *

It was not strange that she crushed the paper between her fingers.

"You needn't destroy my letter," Molly said mockingly, thrusting forth her hand. "Give it to me."

She took it from Jinnie's shaking hand and, smoothing it out, replaced it in her pocket book.

"I wouldn't have come but for your own good," she said, looking up. "Mr. Morse told me you had an idea that Mr. King loved you, and I want you to write him a letter——"

"Write who a letter?" asked Jinnie dully.

"Theodore."

"Why?"

"Because I tell you to," snapped Molly.

Then taking another letter from her bag, she held it out.

"You're to copy this and give it to Mr. Morse to-morrow."

Jinnie took the letter and read it slowly. She struggled to her feet.

"I'll not write it," she said hoarsely.

"I think you will," said Morse, rising.

Jinnie stared at him until he reached the closed door behind which Bobbie slept.

"Don't! Don't!" she shuddered. "I'll write, I'll do anything if you won't hurt Bobbie." Raising her eyes to Morse, she said in subdued tones, "I'll try to give it to you to-morrow."

Never had her heart ached as it did then. The perils she was passing through and had passed through were naught to the present misery. She realized then her hope had been in Theodore's rescuing her.

A certain new dignity, however, grew upon her at that moment. She stood up, looking very tall, very slight, to the man and woman watching her.

"I wish you'd both go," she said wearily. "I'd rather be alone with Bobbie."

Molly smiled and went out with Jordan Morse.

"She gave in all right," remarked Molly, when they were riding down the hill. "I knew she would."

Morse shrugged his shoulders.

"Of course. She worships Grandoken's youngster.... I was wondering there once how you felt when you knew she was reading her own letter."

Molly's face grew dark with passionate rebellion.

"He'll write me one of my own before the year is out," said she.

"I'm not so sure!" responded Morse thoughtfully.

For a long time after the closing of the door, Jinnie sat huddled in the chair. Nothing else in all the world could have hurt her as she had been hurt that night, and it wasn't until very late that she crept in beside the blind boy, and after four or five hours, dropped asleep.



CHAPTER XLV

WRITING A LETTER TO THEODORE

The first thing Jinnie saw the next morning was the rough draft of the letter Molly had ordered her to copy. To send it to Theodore was asking more of her than she could bear. She turned and looked at Bobbie. He was still sleeping his troubled, short-breathed sleep. She had shielded him with her life, with her liberty. Now he demanded, in that helpless, babyish, blind way of his, that she repudiate her love.

In the loneliness of the gorge house she had become used to the idea of never again seeing Theodore, but to allow him to think the false thing in that letter was dreadful. She picked it up and glanced it over once more, then dropped it as if the paper had scorched her fingers. She'd die rather than send it, and she would tell her uncle so when he came that morning.

She was very quiet, more than usually so, when she gave the blind boy his breakfast.

"Bobbie," she said, "you know I'd do anything for you in this whole world, don't you? I mean—I mean anything I could?"

Mystified, the boy bobbed his curly head.

"Sure I do, Jinnie, and I'd do anything for you too, honey."

She kissed him passionately, as her eyes sought the letter once more. It lay on the floor, the words gleaming up at her in sinister mockery. She tore her eyes from it, shaking in dread. Would she have the courage to stand against Jordan Morse in this one thing? She had given in to him at every point, but this time she intended to stand firmly upon the rock of her love. Once more she picked up the letter and put it away.

Two hours later, with loathing and disgust depicted in her white face, she saw Mr. Morse enter, and her blazing blue eyes stabbed the man's anger to the point of desiring to do her harm. For a moment he contemplated her in silence. He was going to have trouble with her that day. What a fool Molly was! It was she who insisted upon that bally letter. What did he care about Theodore King? Still his wife had him completely within her power, and he was really afraid of her now and then when she flew into rages about his niece and Theodore. He mopped his brow nervously.

A few days more and it would be ended. Inside of one week he would be free from every element which threatened him, free to commence the search for his child. He strode across the room to Jinnie.

"Come on with me," he ordered under his breath.

Jinnie obediently followed him into the inner room. Morse slammed the door with his foot.

"Where's the letter?" he growled between his teeth.

Jinnie went to the table, got the original draft and handed it over.

"Here it is," she said slowly.

He glanced over the paper.

"Why, this is the one we left here yesterday, isn't it?"

"Yes!"

"Where is the one you wrote? I don't want this."

A glint of understanding flashed upon him.

"Where is the other?" he demanded once more.

"I haven't written it and I don't intend to."

For one single instant Morse's mind swept over the sacrifices she had made. She had done every single thing he had told her, not for her sake but for others. He shuddered when he thought of the trouble he would have had with her had not the blind boy been within his power also.

"Get the paper and write it now," he said ominously.

"I will not!"

She meant the words, a righteous indignation flaming her face, making her eyes shine no longer blue, but opal color. Morse wondered dully if she could and would stand out against what he would be forced to do.

"I see," he began shiftily. "I have to teach you a lesson every time I come here, eh?"

"This time you won't," she flashed at him.

"This time I will," he taunted.

"I'd rather be dead," she faltered. "I'd rather be dead than write it."

"Perhaps! But would you rather have——" he made a backward jerk of his thumb toward the other room—"him dead?"

Jinnie's eyes misted in agony, but Theodore was still near her in spirit, and she remembered the dear hours they had spent together and how much she loved him. A sudden swift passion shook her as his kisses lived warm again upon her face. That letter she would not write. But as she made this decision for the hundredth time that day, Morse's words recurred to her. Would she rather have Bobbie dead? Yes, if she were dead too. But life was so hard to part with! She was so strong. How many times she had prayed of late to die! But every morning found her woefully and more miserably alive than the one before.

"I understand you'd rather, then," drawled Morse.

Jinnie shook her head.

"I don't know what I'd rather have, only I can't write the letter." She made one rapid step toward him—"I know," she went on feverishly, "I won't ever see Theodore again——"

Morse's emphatic nod broke off her words, but she went on courageously. "I don't expect to, but I love him. Can't you see that?"

"Quite evident," replied the man.

"Why hurt me more than necessary then?" she demanded.

"This is part of Miss Merri——"

"She loves him too?" cried Jinnie, staggering back.

"Yes, and he—well, you saw his letter yesterday."

"Yes, I saw it," breathed Jinnie with swift coming breath.

"Miss Merriweather thinks Theodore might still feel his obligations to you unless you——"

"Does she know he asked me to marry him?" In spite of her agony, she thrilled in memory.

"Yes, and he told me, too. But Miss Merriweather intends to marry him herself, and all she wants is to wipe thoughts of you from his mind."

A powerful argument swept from her lips.

"It wouldn't make any difference to him about me if he loved her."

"You're an analytical young miss," said Morse with one of his disagreeable smiles.

"You've taught me to be," she retorted, blazing. "Now listen! You asked me if I'd rather have Bobbie die than write the letter, didn't you?"

He nodded.

"Then I say 'yes'." She caught her breath. "We'll both die."

"Well, by God, you're a cool one! Theodore's more lucky than I thought. So that's the way you love him?"

She grew more inexplicable with each passing day.

"Poor Theodore!" murmured Morse, to break the tense silence.

"I thought it all out this morning," explained Jinnie. "Bobbie's awfully ill, terribly. He can't live long anyway, and I——" A terrific sob shook her as a raging gale rends a slender flower.

Jinnie controlled her weeping that the blind child in the other room might not hear. Never had Jordan been so sorely tempted to do a good deed. Good deeds were not habitual to him, but at that moment a desire possessed him to take her in his arms, to soothe her, to restore her to Peggy and give her back to Theodore. But the murder scene in the cobbler's shop came back with strong renewed vigor. He had gone too far, and he must have money. Molly held him in her power, and as he thought of her tightly set lips, the danger signal she had tossed at him more times than once, he crushed dead his better feeling.

"Your plan won't work," he said slowly. "Write the letter—I am in a hurry."

"I will not," she refused him once more.

Morse walked to the door, and she allowed him to open it. Then with clenched hands she tottered after him. He was going to kill Bobbie and herself. Somehow within her tortured being she was glad. Morse waited and looked back, asking her a question silently.

She made no response, however, but cast her eyes upon the blind boy sitting dejectedly upon the floor, one arm around Happy Pete.

"Jinnie," said Bobbie, rolling his eyes, "I was afraid you were goin' to stay in there all day."

"Come here, boy," ordered Morse. "Get up and come here."

Bobbie turned his delicate, serious face in the direction of the voice.

"I don't want to," he gulped, shaking his head. "I don't like you, Mister Black Man. I can't get up anyway, my heart hurts too much!"

Still the girl stood with the vision of Theodore King before her.

"I won't write it, I won't," she droned to herself insistently.

Morse sprang forward and grasped the child.

"Get up," he hissed.

Bobbie scrambled up because he was made to. He uttered a frightened, terrified cry.

Then, "Jinnie!" he gasped.

Jinnie saw Morse shake the slender little body and drop into a chair, dragging the child forward. Bobbie could no longer speak. The dazed girl knew the little heart was beating in its very worst terror. She couldn't bear the sight and closed her eyes for an instant. When she opened them, Morse's hand was raised above the boy's golden head, but she caught it in hers before it descended.

"I'll do it," she managed to whisper. "Look! Look! You've killed him."

In another moment she had Bobbie in her arms, his face pressed against her breast.

"Get out of here!" she said, deathly white, to Morse. "I'll do it, come back to-morrow."

And Morse was glad to escape.

After Jinnie brought Bobbie to his senses and he lay like a crumpled leaf on the divan, she took up the hated letter. She sat down to read it once more.

It was short, concise, and to the point.

* * * * *

"MR. KING:

"I made a mistake in ever thinking I cared for you. I have some one else now I love better, and expect to be very happy with him.

"JINNIE GRANDOKEN."

* * * * *

The next morning when Morse came jauntily in, she handed him the copy of it without a word. He only said to her:

"You'd have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you'd done this in the first place. You won't bother me long now. Mr. King is home and almost well." Then he smiled, showing his white, even teeth. "He'll be glad to receive this letter."

"Get out," Jinnie gritted. "Get out before I—I kill you!"

* * * * *

Two days later Molly Merriweather was in the seventh heaven of bliss. As Morse had said, Theodore was home, looking more like himself. With her heart in her mouth, the woman entered his sitting room with Jinnie's letter. Jordan had had it mailed to King from Binghamton.

"I've brought you a letter, Theodore," smiled Molly nervously.

He extended his hand, and upon recognizing the handwriting, turned deadly white.

"I'd like to be alone," said he without looking up.

When he sent for her a little while later, and she sat opposite him, he said:

"I'd rather not speak of—of—Miss Grandoken again. Will you give me a drink, Molly?" And the woman noted the hurt look in his eyes.



CHAPTER XLVI

"BUST 'EM OUT"

"Jinnie, ain't we ever goin' back to Peggy?" Bobbie asked one day, his eyes rolling upward. His small face was seamed with questioning anxiety.

The girl drew him to her lap.

How many times Jinnie had asked that question of herself! How she longed for Paradise Road, with its row of shacks, Peggy and the baby! Bobby knew how she felt by the way she squeezed his hand.

"Ain't we?" he asked again.

"Some time," answered Jinnie limply.

"Did the black man say we could go, Jinnie?" the boy demanded.

Jinnie patted his head comfortingly.

"I hope he'll take us home soon," she remarked, trying to put full assurance into her tones.

Bobbie zigzagged back to the divan, drew himself upon it, and Jinnie knew by his abstracted manner that he was turning the matter over in his busy little brain.

Two hours later, when Jordan Morse came in, the child was still sitting in the same position, and the man beckoned the girl into the other room.

"Grandoken's trial is to start this afternoon within an hour," he informed her. "You'll be here to-day and to-morrow. You see the court won't be long in proving the cobbler's guilt."

If he had expected her to cry, he was mistaken. She was past crying, seemingly having shed all of her tears.

"He didn't do it," she averred stubbornly. "I know he didn't."

In justice to Lafe, she always reiterated this.

Morse gave a sinister laugh.

"What you know or don't know won't matter," he responded, and looking at the angry, beautiful face, he ejaculated, "Thank God for that!"

Jinnie turned her back, but he requested her sharply to look at him.

"Have you told the boy where I'm going to take you?" he demanded, when she was eyeing him disdainfully.

"No."

"I never knew a woman before who could hold her tongue," he commented in sarcasm.

Jinnie didn't heed the compliment.

"When he asks you questions, what do you tell him?"

"That you will come for us soon."

"I will, all right."

Jinnie went nearer him.

"Where are you going to take him?"

Morse shrugged his shoulders.

"You'll know in time," said he.

How ominous his words were, and how his eyes narrowed as he looked at her! She was thoroughly afraid of that tone in his voice. Her own fate she was sure of, but Bobbie—desperation filled her soul. She would beg Morse to let him go back to Peggy.

Lifting clasped hands, she walked very close to him.

"You're going to have all my money," she said with emphasis. "I've done everything I can, and I'll make Bobbie promise not to say a word to any one if you'll take him to Mrs. Grandoken."

Morse shook his head.

"Too dangerous," he replied, and he went out without a glance at the blind boy on the divan.

Once more alone with Bobbie, Jinnie sat down to think. How could she rescue him from this awful position? How get him back to Peggy? Somehow she felt that if she could be sure the little boy was safe, she could go away to the place Morse had described with at least a little relief. That day Lafe's accusers were to try him before a jury——. She had almost lost hope for the cobbler—he was lame, had no friends, and was a Jew, one of the hated race. She knew how the people of Bellaire despised the Jews. For Peggy she didn't worry so much. Jordan Morse had given his solemn promise that, if Lafe died in the electric chair—and she died to the world—he would be of financial assistance to Peggy.

She sat studying Bobbie attentively. The child's face was pathetically white and she could see the quick palpitation of his heart under his jacket.

"I heard what the black man said, Jinnie," Bobbie blurted presently, sinking in a little heap. "I mean when he had you in the other room a little while ago. You was beggin' him to help me; wasn't you, Jinnie?"

Jinnie went to him quickly and gathered him into her arms.

"Bobbie," she implored, "you must never let him know, never, never, that you heard him talking. He might hurt you worse than he has."

Bobbie flashed his eyes questioningly in evident terror.

"What'd he hurt me more for? I ain't done nothin' to him."

"I guess because he's bad, dear," said Jinnie sadly.

"Then if he's bad, why do you stay here?" He clung to her tremulously. "Take me away, Jinnie!"

"I can't!" lamented Jinnie. "I've told you, Bobbie, the door's locked."

She could lovingly deceive him no longer.

How the little body trembled! How the fluttering hands sought her aid in vain!

"My stars're all gone, Jinnie," sobbed Bobbie. "My beautiful stars! I can't see any of 'em if I try. I'm awful 'fraid, honey dear. It's so dark."

Jinnie tightened her arms about him, racking her brain for soothing words.

"But Lafe's God is above the dark, Bobbie," she whispered reverently. "We've got to believe it, dearie! God is back up there ... just up there."

She took his slender forefinger and pointed upward.

"How does God look, Jinnie? Just how does he look?"

"I've never seen him," admitted the girl, "but I think, Bobbie, I think he looks like Lafe. I know he smiles like him anyway."

"I'm glad," sighed the boy. "Then He'll help us, won't He? Lafe would if he could. If you say He will, He will, Jinnie!"

Five tense minutes passed in silence. Then: "Sure we couldn't get out of the window, dearie?" asked Bobbie.

"They're locked, too," answered the girl, low-toned.

"I'd bust 'em out," volunteered the boy, with sudden enthusiasm.

"But there's a deep gorge in front of every one, honey," replied Jinnie sadly.

Yet Bobbie's words—"bust 'em out"—took hold of her grippingly, and the thought of leaving that unbearable place was like a tonic to the frantic girl. She crossed the room rapidly and examined the window panes. But even if she could break them, as Bobbie suggested, the water below would receive their bodies, and death would follow. If it were a street, she might manage. Yet the sight of the flowing water, the dark depths between the ragged rocks, did not send Bobbie's words, "bust 'em out," from her mind. If they fell together, the boy would never be tortured any more. To-morrow Jordan Morse would be in the courtroom all day. To-morrow——God, dear God! She seemed to hear Lafe's monotone, "There's always to-morrow, Jinnie."

She was called upon to think, to act alone in a tragic way. Of course she would be killed if she jumped into the deep gorge with the child and Happy Pete. She tried to think, to plan, but after the manner of all believing sufferers, could only pray.

Bobbie need fear no evil! "Angels have been given charge over him, and Bobbie shall not want," Jinnie whispered, her mind spinning around like a child's top. A sudden faith boomed at the portals of her soul. What was the use of asking help for Bobbie if she didn't have faith in an answer?

To-day would bring forth a plan for to-morrow. To-morrow Bobbie would be saved from Jordan Morse. To-morrow would end his terror in the gorge house. To-morrow—she would be eighteen years old!

"Bobbie," she entreated, going to the child swiftly, "Bobbie, do you remember any prayers Lafe taught you?"

The child bobbed his head.

"Sure," he concurred. "'Now I lay me' and 'Our Father which art in Heaven.'... I know them, Jinnie."

"Then sit upon the divan again and say them over and over, and pray for Lafe, and that you'll get out of here and be happy. You mustn't tell Mr. Morse if he comes, but I'm going to try to get you out of the window."

As she stood in the gathering gloom and peered into the water below, Jinnie could hear the child lisping his small petitions.

At that moment a new faith came for herself. Lafe's angels would save her, too, from Jordan Morse's revenge.

At ten-thirty the next morning Morse came. With trepidation Jinnie heard him open the door. He was extremely nervous and stayed only a few moments.

"I've got to be in court at eleven," he explained, "and I'll come for you both about ten this evening. Be ready, you and the boy, and remember what I told you!"

When they were alone once more, she sat down beside the blind child and placed her arm around him.

"Bobbie, will you do exactly what I tell you?"

"Sure," responded Bobbie, cheerfully. "Are we goin' home?"

Without answering him, Jinnie said:

"Then take Happy Pete and don't move until I get back. Just pray and pray and pray! That's all."

Happy Pete snuggled his head under Bobbie's arm and they both sat very still. The boy scarcely dared to breathe, he was so anxious to please his Jinnie.

The farthest window in the inner room door seemed to be the best one to attack. If Morse surprised her, it would be easier to cover up her work. With a frantic prayer on her lips, she took off her shoe and gave the pane of glass one large, resounding blow. It cracked in two, splinters not only flying into the room, but tumbling into the gorge below. Then she hastily hammered away every particle of glass from the frame, and, shoving her shoulders through, looked out and down. The very air seemed filled with angels. They could and would save her and Bobbie even in the water—even if they were within the suction of the falls there, some distance below and beyond. Then her eyes swept over the side of the building, and she discovered a stone ledge wide enough for a human being to crawl along. Would she dare try it with her loved ones? She distinctly remembered seeing a painter's paraphernalia in the front, and they might be there still! The more she thought, the greater grew her hope, and with this growing hope came a larger faith. At least she'd find what was at the end of the building away off there to the east.

To-day, yes, now!... She couldn't wait, for her uncle was coming to-night. It must be now, this minute. She went back to Bobbie.

"I'm going to try it, darling," she told him, kissing his cheek. "Sit right here until I get back. Hang to Petey. He might follow me."

Then cautiously she dragged her body through the hole in the window, and began to crawl along the stone ledge. The roar of the water on the rocks below made her dizzy. But over and over did she cry into God's ever listening ear:

"He has given—he has given his angels—angels charge over thee."

Jinnie reached the corner of the building, and looked out over the city. The ledge extended around the other side of the building, and she turned the corner and went slowly onward. At the south end she stopped still, glancing about.

Only one thing of any value was in the range of her vision. The two long ropes she had seen long before were still hanging from the roof and fastened securely to a large plank almost on the ground. It brought to Jinnie's mind what Lafe had told her,—of Jimmie Malligan who had been killed, and of how he himself had lost his legs.

Could she, by means of the rope, save the three precious things back in that awful room—Bobbie, Happy Pete, and her fiddle?

To be once more under God's sun with the blue above gave her new strength. Then she turned and crawled slowly back.

At the corner she grew faint-hearted. It must have been the gorge below that made her breath come in catching sobs. But on and on she went until through the window she could see Bobbie with Happy Pete asleep in his arms. The child was still muttering over his little prayers, his blind eyes rolling in bewildered anxiety.

Jinnie was very white when she sat down beside him. Putting her face close to his, she brushed his cheek lovingly.

"Bobbie," she said, touching his hair with her lips, "how much do you love Jinnie?"

"More'n all the world," replied Bobbie without hesitation.

"Then if you love me that much, you'll do just what I tell you."

"Yes," Bobbie assured her under his breath.

Jinnie took a towel—she couldn't find a rope—and strapped the violin to Bobbie's back.

"I've got to take my fiddle with me, dearie," she explained, "and I can't carry it because I've got you. You can't carry it because you've got to hold Happy Pete.... Now, then, come on!"

Jinnie drew the reluctant, trembling child to his feet and permitted him to feel around the window-sash; she also held him tightly while he measured the stone ledge with his fingers.

"I'm awful 'fraid," he moaned, drooping.

Jinnie feared he was going to have another fainting spell. To ward it off, she said firmly:

"Bobbie, you want to see Lafe, don't you?"

"S'awful much," groaned Bobbie.

"Then don't hold your breath." She saw him stagger, and grasping him, cried out "Breathe, Bobbie, breathe! We're going to Peggy."

Bobbie began to breathe naturally, and a beatific smile touched the corners of his lips.

"I got so many stars to-day, Jinnie," he quavered, "one slipped right down my throat."

"But you mustn't be scared again, Bobbie! If we stay, the black man'll come back and shake you again and take us to some place that'll make us both sick. You just keep on praying, and I will, too.... Now, then, I'm going out, and when I say, 'Ready,' you crawl after me."

"What's that noise?" shivered Bobbie, clutching Happy Pete.

"It's water," answered Jinnie, "water in the gorge."

Bobbie's teeth chattered. "Do we have to jump in it?"

"No, I'm going to take you down a rope."

With that she crawled through the hole, and when once on the stone ledge, she put her hand in on the boy's head.

"Lift up your leg and hang tight to Petey," she shuddered, and the blind boy did as he was bidden, and Jinnie pulled him, with the dog and fiddle, through the opening. She put him on his knees in front of her with her arms tightly about him.

"Jinnie, Jinnie!" moaned Bobbie. "My heart's jumpin' out of my mouth!"

Jinnie pressed her teeth together with all her might and main, shivering so in terror that she almost lost the strength of her arms.